The House Always Wins
by EvergreenGirl
Summary: When Star-Lord's spaceship is lost in a bet, the only person who can help the Guardians get it back is a nearly immortal mutant with adamantium claws—Wolverine. But is the enemy of my enemy really my friend? Or will they tear each other apart before they can recover the Milano?
1. Rocket's bet

*****SPOILER ALERT*******: **Don't read this story unless you've seen _Guardians of the Galaxy_! There might be a couple _X-Men_ or Wolverine spoilers in the last few chapter, so watch out!

**What's up Guardians of the Galaxy and Wolverine fans? Huge shoutout to my cool big brother who thought to cross them over! I made up the story and wrote this myself, though. Don't worry, Wolverine will come into the story soon! Enjoy!**

* * *

**1\. Rocket's bet**

"Hit me," he pressed.

His shiny black eyes darted back and forth between his cards and the dealer's hands. The raccoon had a ten of clubs, a seven of spades, and a two of diamonds. He _knew_ the next card would be a one of either clubs or spades. He'd been paying close attention—counting cards, more specifically. That's always how he played Blackjack; he was thrown out of multiple casinos for it, too. And he'd never lost a game, ever. He placed his final bet, but he was cleaned out of money from a previous game of Roulette. Rocket was so confident, he'd bet the Milano, and besides, it was all he had left. But technically, it wasn't solely his. Peter Quill would most likely wring his furry neck if he found out about the dangerous wager, but Rocket knew the next card. It was an intense moment as the purple-skinned woman in a risqué Quasar Hotel and Casino's uniform pulled a card from the deck. The other players—aliens—tilted nearer the table, beads of sweat coating their brows in malicious suspense. A sly grin split Rocket's face. His heart thumped with exhilaration, not worry. Oh, the rush of adrenaline; he lived for it. Since his lifespan was short and fleeting, he planned to make the most of every precious little moment. The dealer brought her amethyst arm down to the green felt, setting the card on Rocket's two of diamonds. A collective gasp escaped his audience of intergalactic, sentient beings. "That's a bust," the dealer said.

It was a four of hearts. "What!?" protested Rocket.

"_That's_ a _bust_," the dealer repeated herself. "It's over twenty-one."

He was doing so well up to that point. How could he have slipped up like that? The dealer pulled the chips away and the title to the spaceship. "Whoa! Hold up there, bub! I _never_ lose at Blackjack! There's no way!"

"Sir, you need to leave," a muscular security guard told the raccoon, grabbing his small arm.

"Hey, hands off or I'll just cap you right now!"

Rocket lifted his monstrous gun to the guard's face. All the other guard's pointed their high-tech machineguns at Rocket's head. "You sick, cheating bastards!" Rocket yelled.

Before he could make a move, the guards wrestled the gun away from him and tossed him out of the casino. Rocket plopped down on the ledge outside the door, which was now locked behind him. His team would probably slaughter his hide . . . unless he could steal back the Milano before they found out. But he'd need Groot's help, at least. Where was the living tree creature? Rocket bolted to his feet. Groot was still on the ship! His padded feet thumped the ground as he scurried down the hovering staircase to the parking lot. The planet's three moons lit up the dark gray night sky, making the flying vehicles look dull in color. The raccoon spun around a few times. Where was their spaceship? He was so drunk when he'd parked it the day before, he didn't even remember where. "GROOT!" he shouted, staring off at the multicolored, pulsating city lights on the horizon.

There was a touch on Rocket's shoulder, and he pulled out his dagger, spinning around to face the hand's origin. "I am Groot," his friend replied in that deep voice rough as tree bark.

"Oh, Groot, I thought you were still on the ship," Rocket sighed, sticking his blade back in the sheath on his faux-leather pants. "I lost at Blackjack!"

Groot shrugged. "I am Groot."

"I know, I know, they say 'the house always wins,' but _you_ know I never lose! We've been to how many different casinos across the galaxy? I've lost track. But I've never lost one single game since we've been pals!"

The tree creature lifted his friend to sit on his shoulder. "They took my gun, too," the raccoon groaned. "I'm never going back to that casino again, except maybe to shoot their asses. And, uh, I kind of bet the Milano."

"I am _Groot_," he groused back, glaring.

"Don't look at me like that! If you had a thousand something winning streak, and were out of cash, wouldn't you bet your ship? I couldn't just quit when I knew the cards! The sons of bitches must be pulling extra cards out from under the table where no one could count them. Quasar Hotel and Casino has _no_ clue who they're messing with!"

Groot grew his tree branch arm out to a sharp point, brandishing it in the air like a weapon. "Oh, now we're talking! But before we shiv them, where'd I park the ship?" inquired Rocket.

"I am Groot?"

"No, I don't remember! I was totally wasted! We both were, weren't we?"

"I _am_ Groot," he stated negatively.

"Oh, yeah, you were drinking liquid fertilizer instead. Sorry, I forgot that too. Damn it, man, just tell me where I parked!"

Groot pointed to the sky. "The valet's already taking off with our ship!" cried the raccoon as the yellow-orange and blue ship hovered into the air. "All our stuff's still on board! Ugh, Quill's going to have a fit. And with my lingering hangover, I seriously don't want to have to deal with his juvenility right now. If you tell him, I won't speak to you for one revolution around Sirius!"

"I am Groot."

"Yeah, you're right; he probably wouldn't understand what you mean anyway. Let's go see if we can get a valet to spill his guts."

Groot lumbered back to the front of the casino, where the purple-skinned valets were taking people's keys. Groot went up behind one of them, and Rocket slipped his knife against the young man's throat. "Where's my spaceship?"

The scrawny teenager started quivering like a leaf in a hypercane on Jupiter. "I don't know, dude! I didn't take anyone's ship today! The manager put me at the valets' desk. We keep a log. Just check the log! And if we've got your vehicle, the key should be there, too! Just please don't hurt me!"

"Don't be such a wuss," Rocket retorted, and put his knife away. "And I'm taking your tip jar."

When Rocket and Groot went to the valet desk, the key was gone, of course. The log didn't say anything about where the casino employees took the Milano after it left the lot. It only had the time it was checked in and out. The raccoon picked up the glass jar of alien bills and coins with him as they left. "We're going to have to check with management next, but I'm pooped," Rocket told Groot. "Gambling is exhausting. You want to get some food?"

"I am Groot."

"Yep, I'm game for Kamikaze's. But we better eat fast."

* * *

"Where the hell are Rocket and Groot?" Peter Quill, a.k.a. Star-Lord, asked Gamora as they were fleeing a vengeful alien he'd spited. "They should've come back three hours ago!"

Drax was sprinting backwards, throwing knives at the nine foot tall, bird-like humanoid from the Altair system. "He isn't slowing down," Drax told Quill.

"Well, duh! Carrageen can dodge your throws like nothing else. He has cat-like reflexes. It's ironic since he looks like a bird, and since cats eat birds, but—"

"We would _not_ be in this situation if you could control your mouth, Quill," Gamora snapped.

"Hey, first off, it's Star-Lord, _Star-Lord_. And second, what does that mean?! I called him an A-hole, so what? Drax called you a whore once, and you didn't hold _that_ against him."

"_I'm_ not a sociopath. And no, you shouldn't have insulted him. You should have taken into account the fact that Altairians are infamous for holding grudges. That and you're extremely loud! If you could be silent, we would've gotten away in the crowd back there."

"Look, you got to poke the bear every once in a while. Because then, when it chases you to bite your face off, you can shoot it in the head so it can't bother you again," Star-Lord responded.

"What bear?" wondered Gamora. "It doesn't sound wise to poke a feral animal, whether or not you succeed in killing it."

"It's a metaphor! You guys don't get out enough."

As they ran, Quill tripped on a chink in the cobblestone street. His face and arm scraped the ground, splitting his skin. Carrageen's slimy hands snatched Star-Lord by the ankles. Quill dangled from the birdman's grasp. His face was turning a deep shade of red from the blood rushing into it. "Look, Carrageen, if you were me, you would've cheated on your sister, too," Star-Lord said. "The word butt-ugly is _such_ an understatement."

The Altairian slammed Quill back-first into the street. He grunted in pain at a couple of his vertebrae getting hairline fractures. "You know, the only reason I went out with her in the first place is because someone at a bar bet one hundred rubies that I wouldn't stand a day with her. I won the bet, so if you want, I'll give you two percent for emotional damages," he said, his teeth clenched in agony.

Carrageen yelled and attempted to stomp on Quill's abdomen, but he rolled out of the way just in time. Drax helped Star-Lord scramble to his feet, his spine popping painfully as it straightened out. "Alright, ten percent, but I'm _not_ going any higher!" shouted Quill. "Ten percent going once . . . going twice . . .!"

While the bird alien was distracted, Gamora leapt onto his back, stabbing him in both sides of his feathery neck. She jumped off and Carrageen fell to the ground, dead. Turquoise blood pooled from his lifeless corpse. ". . . and sold to the green assassin!"

Gamora scowled at Quill. "Let's locate Groot and Rocket. But, please, don't anger any other adversaries of yours on the way," she pleaded.

* * *

"You threw him out? Why?" Star-Lord asked the dealer at the Blackjack table. "It's not that it doesn't sound like Rocket to get thrown out of here, but he's not _entirely_ an idiot."

"He lost a game, and he was being disruptive. He was out of money, too. He'd borrowed the maximum amount of money allowed. The casino couldn't legally lend him any more chips. He thought I'd cheated him when he lost."

"Well, did you?"

The purple woman's gaze dropped to the floor. "Mm-hmm, that's what I thought. _Bastards_," Quill said.

"He said the same thing," she stated.

"Where'd he go when he was thrown out?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I had other players to tend to besides your pet, you know."

"My pet?!" the outlaw exclaimed. "Ha! You'd be sorry if he heard you say that."

"I'm sure one of the valets saw him."

The three strolled out the front revolving door. They found the valet at the desk, shakily scribbling in the log book. He jumped in surprise when he saw them, nearly falling backwards. "You—you're . . . the Guardians of the Galaxy!"

"We're some of them. Did you see the other two? One of them is a talking tree that only knows three words, and the other's a snarky, genetically engineered raccoon," Quill described.

"Oh, yeah, I saw them! They're Guardians, too? I think they wanted the key to their ship, but another valet already had it."

"Who had it?"

"I don't know. But I might be able to find out."

"Did you see where they went?"

"Uh, I think they headed to Kamikaze's Grill," the young valet pointed down the street. "The place's several kilometers that way."

"Alright, Mr. . . ."

"Jorgen, Darian Jorgen," the alien teen replied, smiling.

"Alright Darian, find out who has the keys. And when you know, meet us at the grill, okay, kid?"

"Anything for you, Star-Lord!" he complied eagerly.

Quill nudged Gamora with his elbow at the mention of his nickname. "See, why can't I get that kind of appreciation from _you_, Gamora?"

"Consider this appreciation," she answered, and twisted his arm until it made a nasty sound.

"Ow! Okay, I get it! I guess _injury_ is now the highest form of flattery."

He rubbed his elbow, resisting the urge to retaliate, a grin forming on his lips.

* * *

"Aw, yeah, all-you-can-eat onion rings," Rocket sighed contentedly. "See, Groot? I told you they were the best."

The raccoon rubbed his overstuffed belly. Groot shrunk to the size of a sapling and sat on the edge of the bar. "I am Groot," he stated, swinging his legs to the beat of the background music.

The restaurant was playing '80s music. Rocket leaned back and closed his eyes. "Don't worry; we'll leave in ten minutes."

"I am Groot!"

"What do you mean 'they're here'?" Rocket asked, sitting up in shock. He spun around in the chair. "Damn."

Sure enough, Star-Lord, Gamora, and Drax had just pushed through the swinging doors. "Rocket!" called Quill, fast-walking toward them.

"Oh, no," whispered Rocket.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! **_**Please review, favorite, and follow!**_** WE ARE GROOT!**


	2. Please and thank you

**Hello! Here's the next chapter! No Wolverine yet, but I had to develop the story line first. He's coming soon, though, and I hope you'll think it's awesome. Review? Please? Thank you! Share if you liked it! :D**

* * *

**2\. Please and thank you**

"What the hell did you do to my ship?!" Star-Lord demanded when he reached the bar.

Rocket stood up on the stool. "Look, Quill, I've got everything under control. There was a bit of a mix up, but I'll get your Milano back, alright?"

"What kind of 'mix up'? I let you borrow her for _one_ day and you lose her!"

The raccoon sighed. "I didn't lose her . . . per say. Technically, she's with a valet."

"'Per say'? What did you do!?"

"I am Groot," the tree creature cut in.

Rocket gasped. "How could you try to sell me out like that, Groot?"

"What? What did he say?" Quill wondered.

"He said 'I am Groot,' Jackass."

Star-Lord crossed his arms. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Oh, fine! I'll tell you what happened, but only because you'd figure it out eventually anyway. I was out of units, so I bet the ship to get through the end of Blackjack."

"What the hell were you thinking!? Damn it, Rocket! Were you drunk?! The Milano's _MY_ ship!" Quill grabbed the front of Rocket's shirt.

Quill was at his last straw. He was sick and tired of Rocket messing with him. "I _always_ win, okay?" Rocket defended himself. "I mean, I didn't win this time, but that's because they cheated! Groot and I were going to go talk to management at the casino after we ate, alright, Porcupine?"

Star-Lord pulled Rocket closer to his face. "If I don't get my spaceship back, I'm going to kill you, _Raccoon_."

"Peter, stop!" interjected Gamora. "We can settle this without bloodshed."

"I could kill him without leaving a single drop of blood," Drax mused.

Gamora rolled her eyes. "No one's going to kill Rocket!"

Star-Lord pulled his fingers from the raccoon's clothing. "You are _so_ lucky I have a conscience," Quill whispered.

"Since when do _you_ have a conscience? Last time I checked, _none_ of us did," Rocket stated.

"So defeating Ronan and saving thousands of lives didn't require a conscience?"

Rocket stuffed his little hands into his pockets, not saying another word. There was a loud clatter at the front of the restaurant; a purple teenager in a huge fedora had tumbled over a table. Yellow drink spilled all over a customer, food went flying, and the kid attempted to clean it up, making the victim of his absentmindedness even more agitated. "I'm so sorry, Sir—oh, you're a ma'am! Sorry!"

Quill, recognizing the kid, strolled over to the table to save the day. "Forgive my buddy, here, Miss," he said, wrapping his arm around the boy's shoulders. "I call you 'Miss' because, well, you look _so_ young. Are you single?"

The bloated, blob-like alien blushed. Star-Lord beamed his charming, signature smile. "We're so sorry to have disturbed you. My pal's such a klutz."

They walked away, Quill's arm still around the kid. When they got to the bar where the others were, he let go. "What's up, Darian?" asked Star-Lord.

"Uh, thanks for the save back there! Anyway . . . My manager wouldn't tell me where you guys' ship got taken. He fired me for asking, actually. I'm the first Jorgen to not be a valet! But that's okay; my mother tried to eat me when I was a baby, so—"

"You're getting off track there, kid," Quill cut him off. "The Guardians of the Galaxy have to go now, but thanks for your help, Darian."

"Of course, Star-Lord," he replied.

The Guardians headed for the door, but before Quill walked out, he told Darian, "Oh, and lose the fedora, Indiana Jones."

Star-Lord sauntered out the door. Darian took off the hat. "Who . . .?"

* * *

Peter Quill, Gamora, and Drax wandered up to the desk clerk in Quasar's Hotel and Casino. Since Rocket had been banned, he waited outside with Groot keeping an eye on him. "Can I speak to the manager?" Quill asked the man whose skin was purple like all the other employees.

"You mean 'May I?'. And yes, you may, but only if you have an appointment. Do you have an appointment?"

"Why on Earth would I need to have an appointment to speak to a _manager_?"

"Well, Sir, I don't know how things work on Earth, but here on the planet Bergius you have to have an appointment for the safety of the manager. Customer-on-staff crime is as common here as on Knowhere," the clerk said matter-of-factly.

"What about staff-on-customer crime? Like what you did to a _very close_ friend of mine. Just go get the manager!"

"I'm offended! Are all humans this moronic?!"

"No, and I'm offended at your tone! How do you expect to get more customers with terrible service like this?"

The clerk darted off to a back room. Quill slouched against the counter impatiently. After a few moments of silence, a brown, furry alien came up to the desk. "You wanted to speak with me?" he asked Quill.

"Of course, Alf," Star-Lord replied.

The manager raised an eyebrow. "Alf?" he muttered.

"The classic TV show? You know, Alien Life Form—Alf? You look kind of like him."

"I don't know. But you can call me whatever makes you more comfortable."

"Finally!" exclaimed Quill dramatically, moving his arms around as he spoke, "Some _real_ customer service around here! Now, tell us where you took my ship, Bitch."

"If it's the ship that talking raccoon lost in a bet, then no, I can't give you that information. It doesn't belong to him anymore. It's the rightful property of Quasar's."

"It wasn't the raccoon's to begin with! It was mine!"

"Well, in that case, I still can't tell you."

"Oh, come on, man! I asked you nicely!"

"Calling me a bitch isn't nice. And whether it was the raccoon's to bet or not, it still belongs to the casino. That is, until it's sold."

"You told me to call you whatever made me more comfortable! Wait—sold?! Why would you do that!?" cried Quill. "Do you have any idea how many valuables I have on that spaceship?"

"Calm down, Sir. It's not the casino's fault if your ship isn't insured."

"I don't care! My stuff's on that ship! Even if the Milano was insured—which it wasn't—nothing can replace my Walkman and Awesome Mix Volumes One and Two!"

"What?"

"Ugh, forget this! You want me to ask nicely? Well, I forgot to say please. Please!" Star-Lord said, punching the manager in the face. When "Alf" hit the floor, Quill muttered, "Thank you."

"Was that necessary?" asked Gamora.

"Are you necessary?" Quill retorted, slipping behind the desk.

"Is that a metaphor?" Drax questioned.

"I am Groot," Groot stated.

"Yeah, it's what he said," Star-Lord sighed, "Nonsense."

His fingers tapped the holographic keyboard to the computer on the desk. "What're you looking for, Star-Lord?" inquired Drax.

"What hotel slash casino this big doesn't keep a record of every single transaction they make? If they don't, they're retarded. Whoever has my ship must be on here somewhere."

"There they are!" screamed the annoying clerk from earlier, wagging a finger at the Guardians.

Quill detached the clear glass screen from its stand and sprinted outside. He skimmed through the files, searching for his ship. "That's got to be a new record!" Rocket cried, standing up off the curb. "You went ten whole minutes before attracting security!"

"We don't have time for your sentiment, Rocket!" he yelled back.

Groot snatched his furry little friend off the ground and caught up with the others. "How are we going to escape without a ship?" Gamora thought aloud.

"I can hotwire a hovercraft. I could do something bigger, like a spaceship, but that'd take too long," Rocket explained.

"And we don't have long," said Star-Lord. "Hurry up!"

Rocket darted to the nearest hovercraft, and Groot smashed the window to let him in. Rocket pulled out wires and fiddled with them, Quill still searching the casino's records. "Here we go! The Milano is scheduled to be purchased by someone named Du Verlierer," he told them.

"What kind of name is that?!" Rocket retorted, turning on the hovercraft.

"I don't know—sounds foreign."

"Just get in!" Gamora ordered.

They scrambled into the flying vehicle, and soared away just before security reached the parking space. The underside of the craft scraped against the roof of the casino, screeching so loud it nearly burst their eardrums. "Pull up!" Quill screamed, clamping his hands over his ears.

"I'm trying! You know, this bucket of bolts wasn't built to fly higher than ten meters off the ground!"

"It's going to have to do for now! They're on our tail!"

A menacing spaceship bumped the back of the craft. A chunk of metal fell off the back. "If only this thing had hyper-drive," Rocket muttered, mainly to himself.

"You could add it at a black market, but this piece of crap isn't worth it," Star-Lord said.

Everyone grabbed something to cling to as the hovercraft dropped out of the sky. It slid down the roofs of buildings until splashing into a giant fountain. They fell to the front of the craft, landing one on top of the other. Quill groaned. "I blame you," he complained to Rocket.

"We will never locate the current holder of the ship if you two can't work together," Gamora pointed out, wriggling out of the pile-up.

"Fine by me, it's _his_ ship anyway! If he wants it back, he can get it himself."

Before Rocket could scurry off, Quill clutched his arm. "You lost it; you're helping get it back. No ifs, ands, or buts."

"You know what? I'm glad I lost your ship. Maybe it'll teach you a little humility," the raccoon snapped.

"Come out with your hands up!" a voice blared outside the hovercraft, interrupting the argument.

"Oh, great, now we're under arrest!" Star-Lord cried.

* * *

"We can't legally hold you for longer than forty-eight hours," the casino manager said.

Security guards shoved Quill into his own holding cell in the hotel office. All five of the Guardians were handcuffed and in individual cells. One of the guards spat on the ground as he left. "That's disgusting," Quill retorted.

Drax, Gamora, Quill, _and_ Groot glared at Rocket. "What, you're all taking Quill's side now? I don't believe this! You act like this is just _my_ fault!"

"You _were_ the one who lost Quill's spaceship," Drax pointed out. "We would not be in prison if you had not bet it."

The raccoon rolled his eyes. "But Star-Lord was stupid enough to let me borrow it. It's partially his fault."

"Don't turn this on me, you little bastard," Quill defended.

"Does it look like I give a crap what you say? I do what I want, and I don't care! What else was I supposed to do?! They cheated me! And they cheated _you_, too! You should be mad at the casino, not me!"

"I'm mad at both of you," Star-Lord grumbled, slumping onto his cot.

"Hey," a prisoner whispered from down the row. "Is your ship being sold to Du Verlierer, too?"

"Yes," Gamora replied.

"I know how you can get it back."

"How is that?"

Quill's and Rocket's attentions were drawn to the conversation.

"He has this guy—his right-hand man. If you can track him down, you can find Verlierer. I'd do it myself, but after the holding period is over for me, I've got life in jail on Xandar."

"Tell me, where is this man?" inquired Gamora.

"That's going to come with a price," the stranger stated.

Quill spoke up, "What do you want?"

"I'll need a thousand units."

"What?!" protested Rocket.

"If my family can't buy a home, the landlord will kick them out because they can't pay rent. Since I'll be in jail the rest of my life, there's nothing I can do."

"Fine," Quill told the prisoner. "I'll transfer the units when we get out of here."

"The man's name is John Holden. He's half Terran, half Xandarian. He hides out on Jupiter's moon, Titan, in the Terran system. He's a fugitive of the Nova Corps, and he knows they won't get closer than a light-year away from Earth."

"What'd he do to the Nova Corps?" Rocket wondered.

"Holden used to be one of them. But then he stole a million units from them, moved to Titan, and became employed by Verlierer. If you want your ship back, he can help you. But be forewarned, he won't just tell you where it or Verlierer is."

"Oh, we'll get it out of him," Quill said confidently.

"Promise me something, please."

"What?"

"Promise me you'll get my ship back, too."

"Why? You can't use it if you're in jail."

"No, but . . . I want you to have it. It only seems fair for what you'll do to help my family."

"I promise. And thank you," Star-Lord replied gratefully, feeling a little better about losing the Milano.

* * *

**Please review, favorite, follow! ;)**


	3. Earth to Quill

**It feels great to be back working on this story! I hope you don't mind I took so long. Hang in there, X-Men will be in the next chapter! Please review! :)**

* * *

**3\. Earth to Quill**

The hours seemed like days as the Guardians lounged around in their cells. With a few hours left until they'd be released, Star-Lord stretched out on his cot to nap. The plain bed wasn't too uncomfortable, but his handcuffs were rubbing his wrists raw, keeping him awake. The star system's blue-hued sun would be on the horizon soon, and Quill was hoping an hour of sleep while it was still dark would help his sudden headache. Every time he'd slip into sleep, his arms would relax and the cuffs agitate the sore skin. He resorted to counting the painful thumping of his pulse in his head, but even that didn't help him rest. He sat up for a moment to check if his jail neighbors were still awake too. Star-Lord couldn't see them in the pitch blackness, but he could hear Rocket's and Drax's snoring. He plopped his throbbing head back down on the flat pillow and closed his eyes. "Oo-oo child, things are gonna get easier," he whispered the lyrics, "ooo-oo child, things'll get brighter. Someday—"

"If you do not cease, I _will_ pierce your larynx with the nearest sharp metal object," Drax interrupted.

"Yeah, shut up over there!" Rocket cut in.

"I am Groot!" the talking tree spoke up.

"I will _not_ lower my voice! You lower _your_ voice, Groot!"

"Will you be silent?" Gamora asked. "People are trying to sleep."

"I'm sorry, alright?!" Peter shouted. "I thought you were all sound asleep already."

He turned to lie on his side and covered his head with the pillow to drown out the arguing that ensued. The muffled voices were enough white noise to lull him to sleep at long last.

00000

"Wake up, Terran!" the prison guard shouted, banging his glowing nightstick on the cell bars.

Quill leapt off his cot at the sound of the cell door being unlocked. Drax, Gamora, Rocket, and Groot were being released of their bonds. The casino manager took off Star-Lords cuffs last. "I never want to see your faces in here again!" he yelled.

Peter managed to slip in a confirming glance at the man who'd helped them before being shoved out of the prison. He went to the nearest ATM and transferred a thousand units to the prisoner as promised. "So, how do you plan to get to Titan?" Gamora wondered. "I would prefer not to steal another useless hover craft."

"Oh, no way. I know a place we can get a decent ship that won't cost an arm and a leg," Star-Lord said.

"That would be a painful way to pay," Drax stated.

"It's just an expression, Drax. But I've heard of a place where organs are the next best form of currency."

"You wanna get a ship from the chop shop down the street?" Rocket guessed.

"Yep," Quill replied, and started walking.

Rocket laughed obnoxiously. "There's no way you'll find a ship in good enough condition to make it to Pluto, let alone _Titan_!"

"I am Groot."

"Oh, zip it! I am _not_ being pessimistic," the raccoon told his friend before running after Quill.

When the Guardians made it to the chop shop, the garage door was open and the room was full of spaceship scraps. The garage was quiet aside from the Hall and Oates playing faintly in the background. They split up to look around and locate the owner of the store, but the place seemed deserted aside from the occasional rodent. The room was large, with the walls, ceiling, and floors painted jet black. "Peter!" Gamora called.

Star-Lord dashed through the maze of ship parts to the front room. His eyes met yet another purple resident of the planet Bergius. The man was sprawled out on the floor by the door and wore an oil-stained jumpsuit bearing a nametag that read, '_Shop Owner._' Black blood trickled from his ribs, his hands clutching the fatally deep wound. Gamora turned her gaze to Quill. "He's still alive, but just barely," she said, and then looked back at the shop's owner. "What happened?"

"My . . . ships," he whispered agonizingly, gasping for air between words. "He—took . . . them. When . . . I said—the limit—was two . . . ships per—customer, he . . . stabbed me—and stole—them . . . all. Police are coming."

"Who stole them?" begged Peter, and knelt beside the man.

"He . . . said—his name was—DV."

Star-Lord sighed with disdain. "Du Verlierer."

"What?" the wounded Bergian wheezed.

"He stole my ship," Quill ranted.

"_Purchased_ his ship . . . from the Quasar's Hotel and Casino," Gamora corrected. "We came here in hopes of using one of yours to get ours back."

"That cannot happen since they have been stolen," said Drax. "We may have to steal a ship, after all."

"No," the owner muttered. "One—one may . . . be left. Take . . . it for . . . no charge."

The man winced in pain as he reached toward the desk behind him. "It's alright. I'll get it," Gamora told him when she realized what he was grasping for.

She helped him slowly lower his arm. She stood up long enough to take his ship's keychain fob. The man extended his hand to Gamora, who paused and then took it. She lowered to her knees. "Thank you," Gamora whispered as he squeezed her hand.

He was at the end of the road, but just before he slipped into eternal sleep, he warned, "Be . . . careful. I'm sure he—won't hesitate . . . to kill—again. Tell my son . . . goodbye."

"Quill, we should _really_ get outta here," Rocket advised.

Star-Lord got to his feet and turned. He froze when he saw a young boy standing in the hallway. "Papa?!" the kid cried, staring in disbelief.

The wail of sirens broke the tense silence. "Star-Lord!" shouted Rocket, catching Peter's attention. "We've _gotta_ go!"

"I agree," Drax chimed in.

Quill glanced back and forth between his friends, the kid, and the dead man's body. The sirens grew closer. Star-Lord hated the thought of taking off without offering an explanation to the child as to why his father was killed. "Peter, any second the police are going to come through that door," Gamora informed.

Star-Lord hopped to his feet. "Damn it. You're dad said to tell you goodbye for him. I'm sorry, kid," he said somberly, and patted the boy on the shoulder.

"Let's go," he ordered, and sprinted to the garage just as the cops kicked down the door.

Peter pressed the start button on the fob as he ran through the piles of scraps on the floor. Suddenly, the ground beneath them opened. Quill grabbed the edge of the hole when he dropped. He caught Drax by the hand; Gamora, Rocket, and Groot nearly fell in. Star-Lord grunted in pain as Drax's weight stretched the muscles and tendons in his arms. "Pull me up!" yelled Drax.

"I'm trying," Quill moaned. "You aren't exactly light as a feather, Sunshine."

"I do not resemble rays of sunlight!" Drax protested.

"Shut it or I'll let you drop!"

Star-Lord pulled with all his strength, but something ripped in his shoulder. He cried out as searing pain rippled from his shoulder blade down to his fingertips. The ground was quaking, but Groot was able to wrap his branches around Quill to pull them up. Drax stumbled to his feet, and Quill collapsed onto his back, gasping for air. The pavement stopped shaking as a small, cobalt blue spaceship flew out of the hole. Stairs dropped down from the ship. Rocket and Drax rushed in first. Groot, Peter, and Gamora flashed blue as a cop car turn the corner, heading straight towards them with lights blinking. "Come on, Quill," she coaxed harshly, yanking him to his feet despite the yelps of agony.

"Get in!" Rocket bellowed from above.

Groot lifted Star-Lord off the ground and stretched up to the open door. The police fired laser guns at them. Gamora vaulted the flight of stairs straight into the ship's cabin before the door slid shut. Rocket took hold of the controls in the cockpit, shooting them out of the thermosphere in a matter of seconds. Peter groaned as Gamora pulled off his red leather jacket. He gingerly lied down on the cushioned bench. "I think I . . . tore a muscle," he puffed.

"And your shoulder's dislocated," she added.

"Drax ought to lay off the cheeseburgers for a while," Star-Lord said with a chuckle, only making his shoulder hurt more. "Ow!"

"Hold still. I'll have to reset it."

Gamora set her heel in the crook of his right shoulder, jerking with her arms until it popped back into place. "AHH!" he wailed.

"I'm going to see if there's some ice on board."

"Okay. . . I'm just gonna rest now," he sighed, laying his head down and closing his eyes. He draped his left arm over his face. "Somebody let me know when we get to Titan."

00000

Every bump from solar turbulence sent fire shooting through Star-Lord's arm. "This ship's terrible!" he complained. "I'm feeling everything!"

"What'd ya expect?" Rocket spat. "It belonged to a chop shop owner. I bet he got it from a black market trade. It's got over a million light-years on it."

"I know it's no Millennium Falcon, but I thought the shocks would be better."

"I am Groot," Groot mentioned.

"The hell does that even matter? You'd like anything with a shiny paintjob, Groot," Rocket affronted.

"We've reached the Terran system," Drax pointed out.

Quill sighed in relief, "Finally. . ."

"Just a few minutes till we pass Jupiter, then to Titan," said Rocket.

Sitting up, Quill tried to rotate his shoulder, in spite of the pain. The rest had helped, but it still felt as though his muscles had run through a meat grinder. He bent forward to extend his back, popping it a few times. Between the fight with the Altairian, being locked in jail, and saving himself and Drax from being six _hundred_ feet under, Peter was spent. But he'd do anything to get his music back. His mother had put a piece of her soul into those mix tapes.

Jupiter seemed to increase in size as they closed in on it. "Wait," Quill began, "The prisoner said Titan was one of Jupiter's moons."

"Yeah, so?" asked Rocket.

"But it's not. It's one of _Saturn's_ moons. It's next to Hyperion and between Iapetus and Rhea."

"Well, that sure helps, but now I've gotta turn us around. You couldn't have said something an hour ago?!"

"I didn't think about it before. Doesn't this thing have a digital display map?"

"No. It's too old. There's a GPS, but I like to drive singlehanded."

Star-Lord leaned against the wall to look out the window. "You think we can get Holden to tell us where DV is?"

"You heard what the guy said in prison. He's not exactly a snitch."

"I know, but we _have_ to catch this guy. He isn't just a thief anymore—he's a murderer."

"I understand you sympathize with the shop owner's child," Gamora explained, "but we aren't out for reprisal. We're to retrieve your Milano."

"Well maybe there's a reason she's been taken. Maybe it's so we can stop a psycho on the loose. I owe it to the kid—and his dad—to think about more than myself right now."

"I wish the same; to rid the galaxy of such a monster," Drax stated, shifting in the copilot's seat.

"You too, Drax?" asked Rocket, flabbergasted. "I'm not going to put my ass on the line for one of your personal vendettas, Quill—hell, it's not even yours! Let the SOB go. Everyone dies. Let his fate take care of it for the kid."

"If we do nothing, and let DV get away with murder, that's the same as killing that father ourselves," Peter countered.

Rocket craned his neck around the edge of the pilot's chair to glare back. Groot gave the raccoon a nudge, muttering, "I am Groot."

Star-Lord grinned at Rocket. "I'm pretty sure that means he's in."

"Alright, we'll get the Milano _and_ bring down the bastard," Rocket caved. "Buckle up, we're entering Titan's atmosphere."

The ship came in hot, but the hull held together. It was difficult for Rocket to navigate through Titan's sandstorm sky. The ship quivered as it landed on the rocky, dusty terrain. The Guardians—except for Groot—put on the ship's slim-fitting, chartreuse spacesuits and grabbed what little weapons they had before opening the airtight door. "Ready?" Star-Lord questioned.

Gamora and Drax nodded. Rocket turned to Groot. "Don't let anyone steal this one, okay?"

"I _am_ Groot," the tree replied in confidence, tapping the tabletop and accidently knocking over a glass touchscreen.

Quill cringed at the sound of glass shattering. "Maybe someone should stay here with him. Not you, Rocket."

"What? Why?" he whined.

"Because you lost my ship. You're gonna help me get her back."

"I'll stay with Groot," Gamora offered. "I seem to be the only competent one around here."

"Fair enough," Quill agreed. "Let's go, Rocket, Drax."

They trekked a few miles to the only alien settlement on Titan. The place was a village of insulated aluminum shacks bolted into the dirt and a parking lot for spacecraft. "Which one do you think Holden's in?" Star-Lord asked no one specifically.

Rocket shrugged. Drax mused, "We could knock on each door until we find him."

Rocket snickered. "That'll take all day!"

Something vibrated in Star-Lord's pocket. He pulled out his see-through phone and tapped '_answer_.' A middle-aged man's face appeared on the screen. His hair and eyes were black, his skin warm ivory. "I heard you were looking for me. I'm in the third complex. We can talk once you're inside. But I want to speak with you alone, Star-Lord," the man said, and hung up.

"Wait here," Quill told Drax and Rocket.

He jogged up to the building with a number three etched into its side. He knocked, but no one answered. He tried the doorknob—it wasn't locked. Star-Lord let himself in. The door was at the front of a long, narrow hallway. It was dimly lit and claustrophobic. The lights flickered and the man from the phone call stepped out of a room on Quill's left. "John Holden?" Quill inquired.

Holden nodded. "I know why you're here. And no, I won't tell you where your craft is. All I am at liberty to say is: a mutant Terran knows him well. They call him the Wolverine, but Mr. Verlierer knows him as Logan."

"Where is he?"

"You can find him on your Terra."

And with that, Holden left the way he came. "Wait!" Star-Lord called, to no avail. He slammed his fist into the locked door. "How do I find him?!"

"You just will. You'll see," Holden said, his voice stifled by the door.

Peter Quill leaned his forehead against the metal and took a deep breath. He would be going home, to Earth, for the first time in a _very_ long time.


	4. This seat belongs to Logan

**Is it weird that just writing this cracked me up? 0.0 Thanks for your support! Please review! It's helpful and inspiring to get feedback.**

* * *

**4\. This seat belongs to Logan**

Star-Lord trudged across Titan's desert surface, a little agitated over John Holden's ambiguity. He caught up to Drax and Rocket, who were arguing over who'd win in a fight. "Even if you still possessed your gun, I have drastically greater stealth," Drax disputed.

Rocket cackled. "Stealth? Ha! I could slip right under your big butt and kick you to the ground!"

Quill, ignoring their quarrel, walked right by them and headed in the direction of where they parked their ship. "Hey!" Rocket called, springing after him. "What'd Holden say?"

Drax followed a few paces behind. Peter shook his head as he hiked up a small hill. "Not much. We've got to go to Earth to find 'the Wolverine,'" he said with air quotes. "He wasn't very specific. There are at least six _billion_ people on Earth and he expects me to just _find_ some guy named Logan."

"Terra, huh? Could be worse; you could have to search a planet the size of your sun."

"Not helping."

"How does Holden assume you will locate the mustelid?" Drax wondered.

"The what?" asked Rocket.

"I'm not sure," Quill answered Drax. "He said I 'just will.' That I'll see somehow."

"Wolverines are in the Mustelidae family," Drax explained. "I researched Terran creatures on our voyage to this system. A raccoon, as Quill often refers to you, are Procyonidae."

"We have yet another piece of useless information coming out of your mouth," the raccoon scoffed.

When they reached the spaceship, Gamora let them in. The door closed behind them, and they pressed the buttons on the collars of their suits to disengage the invisible oxygen shields. "I'm gettin' the hell outta this thing," Rocket stated. "Chartreuse is _not_ my color. But I will say these suits are genius—fabric that stretches and contracts to fit any individual's size."

"That would be spandex," Star-Lord told him. "They don't have that where you're from?"

"Ha, ha, very funny. But it's not spandex."

Rocket pulled the boots off his little feet. Gamora helped Quill wiggle his injured arm out of the suit. "Any news?" she queried.

"We're going to Earth," he replied, cringing while carefully pulling on his T-shirt.

"Verlierer's on Earth?"

"No. But someone who knows him is."

"And how are you taking this?" she asked concernedly. "Are you nervous to return to your old home?"

"Nah, I'm fine," he lied.

00000

America—it may or may not have been where Logan was, but Peter thought it was a good start. He didn't know anywhere else. It was his country. And to be perfectly honest with himself, he'd missed it. He'd missed it more than words could fully describe. Why he'd never come back when he had the chance before, he didn't know. Maybe it was too painful a reminder of his mom. Or perhaps he simply wanted to move on with his life. A good portion of his childhood and adolescence was spent living in space with Yondu. A part of him had learned to turn his back on his family, his past. That's why he was secretly nervous to go back. He felt like he'd abandoned his Terra. But he wasn't going to abandon a fatherless child in need of justice, even if it meant swallowing his regret all over again.

Rocket had parked the ship somewhere in the wilderness of northern Maine near the Canadian border. It was the perfect secluded place to hide an alien spacecraft, and Quill had an inexplicable urge to grab a beer in Maine. When Star-Lord saw the other Guardians gathering up their weapons to head outside, he criticized, "What are you doing? You can't go out there."

"Why not?" asked Gamora.

"I am Groot," Groot commented.

"You're right, that _is_ discriminatory," Rocket agreed with his friend.

"It's not discriminatory," Peter amended. "You're aliens to people here."

Rocket insincerely gasped. "You used the A word! How is that not discrimination!?"

"I'm sorry, but people will freak if they see a tree, a talking raccoon, and two Christmassy-colored aliens walk into a bar."

"Now you're making us the start of a joke?!" Rocket objected.

Star-Lord sighed out of frustration. "Alright, fine. Gamora, Drax, you can come with me. I'll put on my trench coat, mask, and space guns, and we'll be cosplayers. Let's hope they go for that." As Drax opened his mouth, Quill cut him off, "And no, Drax, cosplayer is _not_ derogative."

"What about us?" Rocket probed as Groot petted him on the head for seemingly no reason. "We're just s'posed to sit here and guard the ship?"

"Well, yeah, u-unless you want to go frolicking around in your natural habitat—the woods. Make friends with some pine trees, huh, Groot? Otherwise, yeah, you're stayin' here."

Quill finished dressing for 'cosplay,' and the three of them headed out for any sign of civilization. They found a dirt road after about twenty minutes of wandering south. '_Take the hiking trail on the left in a hundred meters_,' an anonymous voice with a British accent rang in Peter's ears.

He froze dead in his tracks; his heart pounded and his breath turned quick and shallow. Gamora stopped and spun on her heel. "Quill?" she checked on him, gently placing a hand on his good shoulder.

'_Don't be alarmed. Your friends cannot hear me. I want to help you. I know who you are, Peter, and I know why you've come._'

Star-Lord stuck his arm in front of Gamora protectively, though it wasn't necessary. He gazed into her eyes as he listened to the unwelcomed voice in his head. '_If you would be so kind as to take the trail, I can lead you to Logan. I'm the reason you desired to come here, to this specific part of Maine._'

"And—and w-why should I trust you?" Star-Lord grilled.

Gamora's brows furrowed. "Peter?"

"What's happening?" Drax asked, unsheathing one of his knives.

'_I know you do not wish to turn a blind eye to wrongdoing dealt by a sadistic killer. And I know you want a piece of your mother back. Please, let me assist you._'

"Get out of my head!" Quill shouted.

Star-Lord blinked a couple of times and relaxed his taught muscles. Drax pointed the tip of his blade at Quill's chest. "Whoa, whoa!" yelled Star-Lord, thrusting out open palms and stumbling backwards. He tapped the button on the side of his head to remove his mask. "It's okay! I'm fine! I'm not gonna hurt anyone!"

"One can never be too careful," Drax said with certainty, and put the blade away.

"No, no, one can!"

"What was that about, Star-Lord?" Gamora prompted.

"I guess—apparently there's a hiking trail down this way. It'll lead us to Logan. A voice in my head told me so."

"A voice . . . in your _head_?" Gamora repeated skeptically.

"Okay, it's sounds stupid when you say it out loud, but. . . Look, you're just gonna have to trust me on this, guys."

Gamora put her hands on her hips. "Then I suggest we start walking. The sun will be setting in four hours."

Drax and Gamora exchanged puzzled glances as Quill led the way. "Left!" he ordered. "Right! Right! Left! Right again!" he'd call out, copying the voice's directions down the trails.

At last they happened upon a highway, the bar directly across the street. "There it is . . .," Peter whispered, pointing.

There were almost no cars driving up or down the road, so it wasn't hard to cross. A group of sweaty bikers lounged outside the building and smoked cigarettes. When Drax, Gamora, and Star-Lord approached, the bikers stared and laughed like drunkards. "Logan?" Quill asked, searching their faces and hoping for confirmation from the voice.

'_He's not there. Go inside, sit down. He should be there soon if he isn't already._'

"Ain't no Logan here," one of the men, who—based on his accent—was obviously visiting from the South, finally answered. "What the hell are ya'll supposed to be?"

"Uh, we, um, just got back from MSC, Maine Superhero Convention," Quill fibbed.

"Never heard of it."

"Oh, well that's because . . . it's for _super_ nerds only," he replied and pushed through the front door.

The bar smelled of booze, smoke, and body odor. Gamora coughed at the rancid stench. All heads turned at the bizarre guests. "Logan?!" hollered Star-Lord.

The bartender answered before the voice in his head could. "You guys looking for a Logan?"

"Yes," Gamora spoke up.

"He's been coming in almost every day for the past month and sitting in that chair," the old man said, shooting his gaze down at the seat and back up at the out-of-towners, "Seems he came up here to get away from everyone."

"Has he been here already today or . . .?" Peter queried.

The man checked his watch. "If he's on time today, he'll be in a half an hour from now."

"Thank you, Sir," Gamora said gratefully, taking a seat next to Logan's favorite chair.

The bartender smiled. "Anything I can get for you, Miss?"

"No. We're not here for the consumption of alcoholic beverages."

Drax stayed standing, while Star-Lord plopped into Logan's seat. "I'll take a beer."

Gamora frowned at Quill, who grinned back playfully. The bartender set the beer bottle in front of Peter, and a glass of water by Gamora. "Just in case you get thirsty, Sweetheart," he told his potential customer. "Did you all come from a costume party, or what?"

"Maine Superhero Con," Quill kept up the fantasy.

"Hmm, sound interesting. Worth checking into?" the bartender feigned interest poorly.

"Oh, no. This year was the last one. It sucks, too, because Harrison Ford, Bruce Boxleitner, and a replica of Johnny 5 from Short Circuit were last minute cancellations. Now they'll never get to come."

"Shame," the man muttered as he went into kitchen.

After seven minutes of waiting, the voice spoke again. '_He's coming in right now. You might want to pick a different seat._'

"I'm sitting here to get his attention, duh," Peter retorted.

"The voice again?" asked Drax.

Star-Lord exhaled, "Mm-hmm."

The bar door swung open, and in sauntered a tall, muscular man in a brown leather jacket and worn jeans. His dark hair and thick sideburns were unkempt. The look in his eyes was feral, but the sharp manner in which they scanned his surroundings was that of a seasoned veteran. One glance and Peter Quill knew—whether it was the voice's influence or just an instinct—that he found the Wolverine. Logan strolled up to Quill, who spoke first. "Hey, I'm Peter Quill, but most people know me as _Star-Lord_."

"You're in my seat," Logan groused coarsely.

"No one actually _owns_ this seat. It belongs to the bar, and I didn't see a sign on the back that says 'This seat belongs to Logan.'"

Wolverine clenched his jaw in frustration, yanked Quill out of his chair, and swiveled it to reveal the name '_LOGAN_' scratched into a metal plate on the back. "Oh, would you look at _that_," Peter marveled, the end of his sentence squeaking like a pubescent.

"How'd you know my name?!" Logan interrogated at whisper level.

"Some guy told me."

Logan snatched the collar of Star-Lord's shirt and pierced his claws through the fabric. The Guardians and everyone else in the bar gawked in incredulity at the metal daggers sprouting from Logan's knuckles. Quill dropped his jaw in fear of the claws less than an inch away from the edge of his nose. The bartender and a few customers aimed their guns at Logan. Drax and Gamora pulled out knives. "Hey! Can't we settle this the old fashioned way?!" cried Quill.

"And what way's that?" Wolverine asked.

"A good ol' fist fight. It's no fun with guns—or in your case, mutant _claws_. It's over too quick."

Logan retracted his claws and all the guns in the room emptied their bullets into his chest, back, and head. Star-Lord tumbled back against the wall as Logan dropped to the floor, presumably dead. But after a moment of awkward silence in the bar, he staggered to his feet. The bullets dove out of their holes, the wounds cinching themselves shut. "You've gotta be kiddin' me!" Star-Lord whined.

Half of the customers sped outside; the others sprinted towards the danger, fists flying. Gamora kicked the back of Wolverine's knee. He spun, shoving her into a chair. She clutched it in an attempt to stay upright. Drax caught her and threw a dagger which Logan dodged. Quill flung his heel at Logan's side, but he caught Peter's ankle and pushed it towards the ceiling. That threw Quill out of balance, sending him back-first into the floor. "Uhhhh," he groaned, arching his back in pain. "That's all . . . you've got?"

Quill roared in anguish when Logan jerked him off the floor by his incapacitated arm. Logan's metal-based fist slammed into his face. He flailed his arms to maintain his balance, grabbed his half full beer bottle off the bar, and backhanded Logan with it. The glass shattered, flying everywhere. A couple of airborne shards sliced Quill's cheek and hand. While Wolverine was distracted, Drax crushed the mutant's neck in a headlock. Logan struggled to get free, but Drax's grip was too tight. He swung his legs up, bringing his boots down into Drax's knees. Drax grunted and lost his hold. The red and teal alien collapsed to his rear end. Star-Lord pulled Logan close, kneeing him in the gut. Logan spun, grabbed Quill's neck, and flung him into the bar. The wood cracked along with Peter's spine. Star-Lord gasped for air, his ribs too sore for him to cry out in pain. "PETER!" Gamora screamed.

"_ENOUGH_!" the voice thundered in outrage.

At least, Peter was sure it was the voice in his head. His ears were ringing, but it sounded the same, and others in the room acknowledged it, turning their heads. All the employees and customers stood up straight. They marched out of the bar like robots, leaving the Guardians and Wolverine alone—well, almost. Star-Lord turned his throbbing neck to see the origin of the shout. His vision was blurry, red, and full of stars, but as he focused, a bald-headed old man in a wheelchair became crystal clear. "I see you've met your new friends, Logan," the man said in complete seriousness.

The mutant scowled, hissing, "Friends?!"

"The feeling is mutual," Gamora snapped, inspecting Quill's chest for damage.

The old man rolled himself further into the room, weaving around broken tables and chairs. "I'm Professor Charles Xavier," he introduced himself to the Gamora, Drax, and Quill. "It's a pleasure to meet you face to face, Peter."

Star-Lord wheezed and coughed. His hand, cheek, mouth, and nose were bleeding; his shoulder was on fire, and his spine felt like shrapnel in his back and neck. "Hey . . .," he rasped. "See, g-guys? I'm . . . n-not goin' . . . schizophrenic."

"Come, let's get you fixed up, '_Star-Lord_,'" Professor X said, wheeling for the door.


	5. X-Menaces

**_IMPORTANT UPDATE!_ I'm so sorry! I was super sick for a really long time, and it's taken forever for me to get better, but I think I'm pretty much healed. I promise I'll update more often now that I'm mostly better. I hope this chapter's alright, because my brain still feels kinda fried from the illness and meds.**

* * *

**5\. X-Menaces**

Drax and Gamora had helped Star-Lord walk back to the ship, Professor X and Logan in tow. They'd flown to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, where a female student used her mutation to heal Quill through touch. "There you go. Luckily your injuries weren't as bad as they felt. I can't heal everything," she said, and smiled at the professor on her way out of the infirmary.

"Thank you," Xavier replied. "How do you feel now, Peter?"

Quill grinned. "Awesome. I've got full range of motion in my shoulder with only a little soreness," he stated in awe, swinging his arm around. "And my back feels _amazing_."

"Glad to hear it. I'll leave you and Logan to talk about why you've come to Earth."

"I am _Groot_," Groot said to Professor X.

"Why, yes, I'd love to show you around campus, Groot," the professor answered.

Star-Lord's and Rocket's jaws dropped. "He understands Groot!?" they exclaimed in unison.

Xavier chuckled. "Of course I do. Telepathy, don't you recall?"

"So, wait, why didn't you use your mind powers to tell Rocky over there to tap out? He could've killed me," Peter wondered, feeling Logan's eyes glaring holes in him.

"But he didn't, and I knew he wouldn't. Besides, he doesn't like me in his thoughts, so I try to leave him be. And I don't want to take away everyone's free will by making them my personal slaves."

Quill lowered his gaze. The tree creature and the mind-reader left the room. Logan sat on a metal chair. "What'd you want to talk about?" he questioned Quill.

"Can we talk outside? Doctors' offices remind me too much of death."

00000

Star-Lord and Wolverine sat on a bench by a tree. Gamora and Drax had decided to take that tour of campus with Professor X and Groot. The wind was blowing softly, making Peter realize how much he'd missed the sun's warmth. He inhaled deeply, relaxing with the exhale. A girl, whose hair was dark brown with white streaks, jogged up to them. "Hi, Logan," she greeted.

"Hey, Rogue," he acknowledged.

She smiled politely when she noticed the stranger sitting beside her friend. Turning her eyes back to Logan, she asked, "I'm going for a run; you wanna come with me?"

He shook his head. "Maybe some other time, alright, kid?"

"Okay, I understand. See ya 'round, Logan," she paused to glance at Quill, "Logan's friend."

"Rogue?" repeated Quill once she was out of earshot.

"It's not any worse than _Star-Lord_," Logan retorted.

"Hmm. . . I guess you've got a point."

"So what do you want with me?"

"It's kind of a long story. . ."

"I've got plenty of time."

"Okay, well . . . The raccoon with an attitude bet my ship, the Milano, at Blackjack, and lost. So the casino sold it to some guy named Du Verlierer—does that name ring a bell?"

"No."

"Well, my friends and I got arrested for harassing the casino manager—"

"That's not surprising," Logan ridiculed.

"Will you let me tell the story?! Anyway," he sighed, "a prisoner in jail with us told us about DV and that he'd gotten ahold of his ship, too. He wanted us to get it back along with mine. And when we got out of jail, we tried to buy a ship from a chop shop, but we found the owner dying. He was stabbed by DV, who took all his inventory of working spacecraft. He gave us the key to his ship before he died. We went to Titan—the prisoner had mentioned a guy named John Holden there, who's apparently DV's right-hand man—and Holden told us about you. That's why we're here."

Logan shook his head repeatedly. "I don't know a DV or a Holden."

"But maybe you do and can't remember. Or you've had your memory wiped. DV or Holden could be aliases. Either way, you can still help us. Please."

"Why the hell should I help you?" Logan asked gruffly. "I don't know you."

"Because I asked nicely?" answered Star-Lord. "Look, I don't know why. But Holden told us to find you, so you must be involved in this somehow. And besides, you can help us anyway since ninety percent of our weapons are lost with the ship. What with your super healing and claws and stuff, you could protect us. Not that we'd _ever_ need _you_ to protect us. There are things on my ship that are more important to me than the ship itself."

"What's in it for me?"

"I'm pretty sure we can work something out for you to get comp for this. How'd you like your own spaceship?"

Wolverine loudly puffed out air in amusement. "What would _I_ need a spaceship for?" he answered with another question.

"I have no idea!" Quill exclaimed dramatically. "But when we're done, I'll have one to spare. Who wouldn't want a spaceship? Please help us! How are guardians of an _entire_ galaxy supposed to guard it without a ship?"

There was a long pause. Star-Lord stared down at the dirt, his enthusiasm blowing away with the strong gust of wind. "The only thing I've got left of my mom is on that ship. It keeps her alive, in here," he said quietly, tapping the left side of his chest with two fingers. "And I'd hate to see that chop shop owner's sacrifice be for nothing. His kid lost a _dad_. Please, if you won't do this for me, do it for them."

"If I help you, will you swear to shut up and never bother me again?" Logan asked harshly, yet silently sympathizing with the outlaw.

"Anything you say, Claws," he replied, and saluted with a grin.

"Call me that again, and you'll lose something else important to you," he muttered.

Star-Lord lifted a cupped hand to his ear. "What was that?"

Without a word, Logan stood and strode off. Quill smiled uncontrollably. He got to his feet and followed the Wolverine back inside the school building. Logan pushed through the door, not bothering to hold it open for Quill, who squeezed himself through behind him. "So, I guess X was right, huh?" he asked the mutant.

"About what?" wondered Logan, neither stopping nor looking back.

"Back at the bar, he said you'd met your new friends."

Logan came to a halt. He turned and pushed Quill against the wall. The students in the hallway paused to gawk. "I'm only going to say this once, so pay _very_ close attention," Logan spat mutedly. "Just so it's perfectly clear, you and I _aren't_ friends and _never_ will be."

"_Okay_!" Peter surrendered, lifting his hands. "I was just tryin' to be nice, man!"

"I leave you alone for fifteen minutes and you've _already_ started another argument," Professor X cut in as he and the other Guardians turned the corner.

Logan removed his hand from Peter's chest and stormed away. "What the hell is his problem?!" Quill grumbled.

"He's had a rough week," Professor X said. "His motorcycle was stolen."

"All that over a motorcycle?! Seems like a jackass to me," Rocket remarked. "I dunno why you keep him as an X-Man, Professor."

"A what?" Star-Lord inquired.

"That's what I call my team of mutants," Xavier explained. "They're the X-Men."

"More like the X-_Menaces_," Rocket mused. "And this school's crawlin' with 'em! Some girl tried to pet me, another freakin' kid thought it was hilarious to try to light my tail on fire, and Lamb Chops that just took off is a pouty baby. I think we should forget about Musklid and get outta here."

"It is pronounced _mustelid_," Drax corrected.

"Whatever! He's not worth the trouble. We can get Quill's ship back without his sorry excuse for a soul."

Groot gasped. "I must agree with Groot," said Xavier. "Insulting him won't make him like you any better. From what I could gather from reading his mind, Logan doesn't know DV, but if it turns out that he actually _does_ know something about him, you would benefit from his presence. I can have a talk with him; try to convince him to be a little more agreeable while he helps you."

Star-Lord bit his lip in concentration. "A little constipated, Quill?" Rocket jeered.

"What? No! I was just thinking—"

"Don't strain yourself."

"Shut up, Rocket!" He turned to Professor X. "When and where was Logan's bike stolen?"

Xavier showed them to the front of the school. "He typically keeps it here when he isn't riding it. That's where it was taken from. It's been gone about four days now."

"Uh-huh, I was thinking Logan's missing bike had something to do with my stolen ship. And Rocket lost the Milano four days ago," Peter stated.

Quill carefully stepped around, scoping out the area from different perspectives and checking the pavement. "Did the thief leave anything behind? A note or some kinda clue?"

"We found nothing," the professor responded.

Quill put on his helmet, switching the lenses to various wavelengths of light. He stopped on infrared when he spotted a pattern of lights in the trees. He pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket and marked dots on his palm. "What does this look like to you?" Star-Lord asked rhetorically, showing them his hand. He drew lines connecting the dots, making a humanlike stick figure. He continued, "It's Andromeda, the constellation. There're infrareds in those trees. See, Rocket? I'm not an idiot after all."

Peter leaned against a parked car, setting off the alarm. He yelped and stumbled to get away from the vehicle. Rocket burst into laughter. "Sorry," Star-Lord said to Professor X.

A moment later, a teacher stepped out to turn off his car alarm. "It was _him_," Quill told the owner, jabbing his thumb in Groot's direction.

"I am _Groot_?"

The teacher's eyes widened, and he cautiously tiptoed backwards into the school. "I must attend to a student," Xavier explained. "I'll meet you when you come back in. You're welcome to stay the night. It will be dark soon."

"Thank you for your assistance," Gamora told him.

The professor rolled inside. Drax spoke up, "Shall we inspect the clues?"

"Hell, yeah," Quill said, and they jogged down to the trees.

Star-Lord started climbing a giant oak, but Groot grew up and outward, snatching the lights out of all of the trees at once. "Show off," Peter whispered, hopping to the ground.

Groot grinned. Rocket turned over one of the lights in his small, furry hands. It was a CD-sized black disc about an inch thick, with a large bulb in the center. _'__DV Tantra'_ was etched into the chrome on the side. "I gotta pretty good idea where we can find Du Verlierer."

00000

Despite Professor X's offer, they spent the night in their recently acquired cobalt spaceship which Star-Lord at last decided to name "Maverick." At the crack of dawn, Gamora, Drax, Rocket, and Groot were up. Quill was strewn across the foldup cot in the captain's quarters, his mouth agape and releasing thunderous guttural sounds in his sleep. "Wake up, humie!" Rocket hollered, tossing water on Quill's face.

Star-Lord choked and coughed. He sat up, the drenched sheets adhering to his chest. "What the hell?!"

"Get up! Time to get Lamb Chops and go!"

Quill dried off, dressed, and the Guardians met Xavier and Wolverine in the professor's office. "I don't know why, but DV stole your motorcycle right before he stole our ship," Star-Lord told Logan. "And he used infrared lights to leave a star map of the Andromeda constellation outside. The lights were marked with his initials and 'Tantra,' which is a star system in the Andromeda galaxy. So, that's gotta be where he wants us to go."

"What if it's a trap?" Wolverine questioned, crossing his arms.

"It probably is, but it's the only lead we've got. And I don't know which planet, but I know some people on the planet Xandar there that can probably help."

"I am Groot!" the tree creature exclaimed, rubbing his belly.

"I know you're hungry! We'll get snacks on the way. Don't be such a big baby 'bout it!" Rocket replied.

Professor X suggested, "Why don't you find your way to the cafeteria and stock up on food for your journey? I need a word with Logan before you go."

"I am Groot?" he asked Rocket.

"I dunno much about Terra, but I seriously doubt they got Polarian squid tentacles, buddy . . .," Rocket answered as the Guardians left the room.

"Have a seat," Xavier told Logan, who remained standing. "Are you sure you wish to do this?"

"You know I am."

"Yes, but do you really know? When you met Peter, you wanted nothing to do with him. I know you want to help that fatherless child and retrieve your motorcycle. I also know that, whether or not you will admit it to anyone or even yourself, you have empathy toward Peter."

Wolverine didn't respond.

"But don't get caught up in vengeance—for the child or yourself. You have yet to see what you're dealing with, but promise me you'll do the right thing. Despite what you think, you can trust Quill and his friends. They have pure intentions, and honest hearts. At least, they do now."

"I don't like to make promises I can't keep . . . but sure. I'll try."

"And don't kill your allies. Though I know you're tempted," Professor X said with a smile.

Logan smirked.


End file.
